Premonition
by Naranne
Summary: A visit to Master Yoda goes badly awry when Anakin is transported to a strange world where Jedi are non-existent, and he is faced with a different kind of intrigue, a girl bearing an eerie similarity to Padmé, and an alliance with a strange, masked man.


**A/N:** Well, this is an idea that came into being when my sister jokingly suggested that someone should create a crossover between these two ideas - so you can thank her for this random burst of creativity. Approximately the first third is a written interpretation of a scene from _Revenge of the Sith_, from the dream onwards.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Star Wars, nor do I own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters, etc.

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Padmé _screamed, her face contorted into an image of pain and agony. Sweat dripped off her brow, ran in little rivulets down into her dark brown hair. A baby's cry could be heard in the background, as Padmé screamed again, her face twisting as she writhed. Darkness swirled around her: nothing was visible except her face, red, her eyes pleading, her mouth open. Small tears formed in the corner of her eyes. This continued, almost unbearable._

_"Anakin... Anakin! Anakin, help me!" she pleaded._

_She screamed again, and the image faded slowly, her face sinking into nothingness—_

Anakin awoke with a start, panting heavily, chest heaving. He sat up quickly, blinking, looking around to reassure himself that the dream had not yet come to pass. To his relief, Padmé lay beside him, sleeping peacefully with her back to him, her curls tumbling over the pillow, and one arm tucking the covers in. Her side rose and fell with each breath, convincing him that she was still alive and well. Trying to shake the last remnants of the dream from his mind, he pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, contemplative, his head cradled in his hands—one biological, one mechanical. Padmé stirred as the blankets moved, but soon lay still again, sleeping.

However, the dream would not be shaken so easily, and in a vain attempt to calm himself, Anakin rose from the bed completely, gathering a jacket as he did so. It was still dark, though the room was partially lit by the light created by the myriad of buildings and signs that dotted the city, lighting it even in the middle of the night. As he walked from the room, he pulled the jacket over his bare chest to provide some cover as he sought solace outside the apartment he shared with Padmé.

---------------«¤»---------------

The sudden absence of her husband's warmth woke Padmé, and she shifted, trying to discern where he had gone. As she propped herself up on one elbow, her mass of curls tumbling over one shoulder, she noticed a long figure walking out of the hallway connected to their room. Left with no doubts as to who that person might be—there would be no visitors at this hour—she roused herself completely and decided to follow him. His sudden awakening disturbed her, and she wanted to make sure that he had not been plagued by any nightmares or some such thing—though he might not admit it, she knew that the stress of the war reached him, even through his sometimes cold exterior. Determined to find the truth of the matter, and comfort him if she could, she left the warmth of their bed and followed him.

---------------«¤»---------------

The cool, night air was a welcome change from the somewhat stuffiness of the bedroom, and as it caressed Anakin's face, slightly ruffling his hair, he could feel a little of the tension draining from his body. The dream would plague him endlessly, he knew—it had felt so lifelike, so real. It bore an eerie similarity to the dreams he had had just before his mother's death, except that it had been about Padmé: Padmé, dying giving birth to his child—_their _child. He could not bear the thought of losing her; he knew that without her, he was nothing. He had been incredibly happy when, upon returning from the rescue mission, she had informed him that she was pregnant. Now, months later, when her belly was distinctly rounded and dreams had begun to haunt him, he was not so sure that her pregnancy was a cause for happiness—if it would mean her death, how could it be?

He leant against one of the small, stone pillars in the courtyard, which was quiet save for the gentle sounds of running water coming from the fountain in the courtyard's centre. Lamps illuminated the area softly, resting atop stone pillars akin to the one he was leaning against. Silence reigned for a while, until it was disturbed by the sound of footsteps, the whisper of cloth as someone walked.

Anakin did not look to determine the source of the sounds: there could only be one person that would find him there. The object of his thoughts approached him, coming to stand at his side. Though he did not turn his head to look at her, he could feel Padmé's worried gaze raking over him, trying to figure out the reason for his early awakening. He did not want to tell her—did not want to voice his concerns, for fear it might bring about his dream sooner rather than later, before he could think through a way to prevent it. However, he knew that she would ask, if only because she was worried about him, yet he had an answer prepared for when she did. Silence reigned again for a moment as they stood there, her hand stroking his hair in soft, rhythmic motions. Her simple presence soothed him, yet for once it also unnerved him—he was overcome with the desire to protect her, keep her safe, even more than usual, except that this time, he was faced with an enemy he could not make vanish by "agressive negotiations". It was a while before she asked the question he had known was coming: "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," he answered, turning to face her for the first time, his gaze flicking up to her worried face and down again, taking in her appearance.

He was as awed by her beauty as he had been earlier, as he was every day. Her simple blue gown fell gracefully to the floor, doing little to hide her rounded belly, and her hair tumbled down onto her shoulders, her soft curls captivating him. She wore no ornament except for a lone, wooden pendant which drew his eye. It was small, and carved by hand: he knew each and every groove, as he had been the one to gift her with it. He picked it up in one gloved hand, a smile gracing his face for the first time since he had awoken.

"I remember when I gave this to you." His voice was soft, gentle.

However, she was buying none of it. He should have known that Padmé, of all people, would be able to see when he was truly upset or disturbed, even when he tried to hide it. Instead of responding to his soft voice, her tone was annoyed. "How long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?"

Though she was evidently annoyed, and she had withdrawn her hand from its position on his neck, her face still betrayed her worry.

Anakin's expression turned sour, and he faced away from her, looking straight ahead. He sighed almost imperceptibly, and decided to tell her the truth. "There was a dream."

"Bad?" she whispered, her concern evident in her voice.

He shifted, uncomfortable about revealing any weakness on his part—even to Padmé. "Like the ones I used to have about my mother, just before she died," he informed her.

Even now, so long after the events had occurred, it was still incredibly painful for him—just as the fact that he had _failed_ her was painful. He swore that he would not fail Padmé; he would not lose her as he had lost his mother.

"And?" Padmé pressed softly.

Irritation flared for a moment, before he reminded himself that she was not being deliberately invasive—she cared for him greatly, and wanted to make sure that he was coping, that he was fine. He turned his head to look at her, anguish in his eyes. "And... it was about you," he replied, almost stumbling over the admission.

"About me," she repeated quietly, her brow furrowed in worry and sympathy. Her hand rubbed small circles on his back.

He relished in the comfort of her touch for a moment before he pulled away roughly, sighing angrily. "It was only a dream," he said dismissively, walking away from her. _Only a dream_, he repeated to himself silently, willing it to be true, wishing that he did not believe otherwise. He had tried to tell himself that his nightmares about his mother's death had been _just dreams_, yet they had still come to pass.

She made no move to follow him as he stood a small ways away from her, in the centre of the courtyard. Even so, he could feel her worried gaze boring into his back, and he knew that she would not be deterred that easily. Anakin made a small, involuntary noise in the back of his throat, and slowly turned halfway to face her again, standing sideon, but turning his head the rest of the way so that he could look at her. He knew that he would have to tell her the rest, now that he had gone this far—still, it did not make him more comfortable doing so. He felt that if he vocalised his fears, it would somehow finalise them coming to pass.

"You were dying in childbirth," he told her, trying to keep the fear, anger, and anguish out of his voice. To some extent, he succeeded.

Padmé's eyes widened slightly. Her hands flew to her extended stomach worriedly, as if to cradle the unborn child and hold it to her, keep it safe from harm. "The baby?" she asked fearfully, and he nearly snorted. He had told her that he had dreamt of her dying, and all she could think about was their unborn child? Though the majority of him was still ecstatic at the thought of being a father, he could not control the part of him that now saw the unborn baby as a threat to her life.

He drew in a shaky breath. "I don't know."

Padmé shook her head slightly, the worry and sympathy returning to her face, replacing the momentary flicker of fear he had seen. She walked closer to him, trying to convey the love she felt for him with her eyes. "It was only a dream," she consoled him.

If only he could believe her. She stood close to him, now, close enough that he could rest his hands on her arms. "I won't let this one become real," he stated, defiant, almost angry.

Padmé glanced away and then looked back up at his face, meeting his eyes. "This baby will change our lives—I doubt the Queen will continue to allow me to serve in the Senate, and if the Council discovers that you're the father you'll be expelled—"

He cut off her worried ramblings by raising a hand, shushing her. "I know, I know," he soothed her. His gaze strayed, focusing far-away, as he attempted to calm himself, stem the renewed flow of worried thoughts that had burst free at her words. Even if she survived the childbirth, even if he survived the war, there were still many, many, other issues they had to solve. He cursed the Jedi Council for forcing their marriage to be secret, for not allowing him to announce himself as the father of Padmé's child—they would surely be forced apart if they discovered the truth.

"Do you—do you think Obi-wan might be able to help us?" she inquired softly, worriedly.

Anakin's eyes snapped back to meet her worried, searching gaze. "We don't need his help," he told her defiantly. He was beyond needing a mentor—he was a fully-fledged Jedi now. They would deal with their problems on their own, together. He forced his voice to be calm, beating back the worry, anger, fear, and dread. "Our baby is a _blessing_."

Despite himself, a smile found its way onto his face, and he drew Padmé close, folding her into his embrace, before the smile melted off his face and he became stern and distant once again.

They stayed like that for a few moments, each drawing comfort from the other's closeness, allowing themselves to believe that together, they would solve any problem that chose to throw itself in their path. Anakin's resolve hardened, and he promised himself again that he would let no harm come to her.

However, they could not stay like that forever—soon, they would have to 'awaken' and resume their lives, in a world where they were not married, where Padmé's child was fatherless and where Anakin was a Jedi that had stayed true to the Jedi's life, and had not allowed himself to fall in love. All too soon the moment ended, and he released her, both of them walking back to their rooms so that they could enjoy the last hour or two where they could live a life with no pretence, before they had to dress and return to the fake lives they were forced to live.

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Dressed in his proper attire, Anakin decided that the very least he could do was see someone wise about his dream, in case it proved to be a true premonition, like the dreams with his mother had. He knew that perhaps the only one on the Jedi Council that would listen was Yoda, and the wise Jedi Master—here a flash of bitterness flew through him, for surely _he_ should be a Master—would be at the Jedi Temple, even at this early hour. Bidding Padmé farewell, with a promise to return as soon as he could, he made his way to the Temple.

Even though the day had barely begun, there was a surprising amount of activity in the Temple; Jedi nodded to him in greeting as he walked along the corridors, his leather boots making little sound as they came into contact with the marble floor. The room he sought, Yoda's private room, where he retreated to meditate, was at the far end of the Temple, and he would have to walk through its entirety to reach there. The central corridor branched out in several places, leading into separate, smaller corridors, which contained the doorways to several rooms. Many of these rooms would later be occupied by Younglings in training—the thought of the young Jedi sent an odd feeling spiralling through Anakin's gut. Would his child become a Jedi? And even if they did, would Padmé survive to see them grow and develop their powers?

Anxiety and a sense of powerlessness stole over him, as well as anger at what he was feeling: he was a Jedi, one of the strongest the Council had seen in years, perhaps _the _strongest, if he trained further. What was he doing feeling such weak emotions? They were for people less capable, less fortunate, than he. There was no place in a Jedi's heart for fear or weakness. A Jedi was strong, immovable, fearless.

Nonetheless, his pace quickened as he hurried toward Master Yoda's private rooms.

However, once he reached the door, he gave himself a moment to pause and collect himself. It would do no good to betray his true feelings to Master Yoda by appearing anything less than the utterly composed Jedi—if he appeared too scared, too angry, Yoda, in all his wisdom, might suspect that something was amiss. Anakin reminded himself that if Yoda—or any of the other Jedi Masters, for that matter—learned the truth of the entire matter, it would place Padmé in even _more_ danger, defeating the purpose of seeking advice in the first place.

Having sorted himself into some semblance of calm, Anakin pushed open the door, and came face-to-face with something that was definitely _not_ Master Yoda's room. The entire doorway was filled with a swirling, opaque mass of colour—all the colours of the rainbow. Around and around the colours span, enough to make Anakin's head spin with faint dizziness. He had never seen anything like it before—not in all the times he had visited the Temple. The colours seemed to focus upon a central point, right in the middle of the doorway. Anakin nearly called for another Jedi, then steeled himself and reminded himself that there was nothing he could not handle on his own, now.

_Except losing Padmé, that is why I am here,_ he thought.

Bravely, he stepped forward—

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Darkness, then swirling colour. A feeling of tumbling, falling—endless falling. Darkness again. A flash of bright blue, green, purple, red—lightsaber colours. Anakin felt as though every fibre of his body was being pulled and pushed and twisted, being compacted and drawn out, all at the same time. Combined with the feeling of endless falling, the sensation was nauseating. He could not think. Colour was everywhere one moment, then everything was black the next. Instinctively, he reached for his lightsaber—only to find he could not move his arms, or his legs. He tried to summon the Force to clear away the swirling colours and darkness, only to find his will would not comply. Valiantly he fought, but inevitably, he succumbed, and slipped into the welcoming blackness of unconciousness. His last thought was of Padmé.

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The room was brightly furnished; the walls were covered in a reddish-pink wallpaper, and the few chairs were draped with bright pink matieral. A few boxes of flowers, mainly roses to show admiration, where placed about the room. The double doors were of a warm wood, and the golden door handle was intricately designed. A vanity was pushed up against the wall to the right of the doors; on it lay a few bottles of various perfumes, an oil-lamp—and a single, red rose with a black ribbon tied in a bow around its stem. There were no windows, and so, the only lighting came from a small, simple chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling, and various candlebras place strategically around the room—all lit. Along the walls hung paintings, presumably of the room's current and past inhabitants. Red drapes hung from the ceiling, tied back against the walls with golden ropes. However, the feature which immediately drew the eye was the large, full-length mirror which covered most of the back wall—upon entering, it was noticable straight away, as it faced the double doors.

The room's only occupant lay sprawled, face-down upon the floor, unconcious. If not for the visible rise and fall of his sides as he breathed, it would have been easy to think him dead. His attire did not fit the rest of the room—he wore a strange, black leather tunic, belted around the waist, and hanging from the belt was what appeared to be a silver cylinder, with strange grooves and buttons adorning it. The shirt that the tunic was hung over was loose, and also black in colour: the sleeves were long, and billowed out slightly as they reached his hands. He wore sturdy, leather boots, and black, slightly baggy pants which were tucked into his boots. A cloak lay discarded at his side, having evidently been attached to his clothing and then fallen at one point. His shoulder-length, curly hair was somewhat dishevelled.

With a groan, Anakin stirred.

He blinked, gathering his arms underneath him in order to push himself off the floor where he lay. However, his arms held no strength, and he collapsed. He gritted his teeth, angry that his strength suddenly seemed to have disappeared. After a few more tries, he managed to push himself into a standing position. His eyes scanned the room, and instantly, he was alert. One thought ran through his mind.

_This is not Master Yoda's room—where am I?_

Shaking his head to clear away the last of the fog of unconciousness, one hand reflexively went to his lightsaber as he took in his strange surroundings. He held the weapon tightly in his right hand, but did not draw it yet—there was no-one else in the room, that he could see. The first thing that registered in his mind as he surveyed the room was that there was no way that he was still in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He gritted his teeth, feeling anger boil up inside of him. He resisted the urge to destroy everything closest to him, and tried to restrain his anger and bitter disappointment. Instead of coming closer to deciphering his dream and finding a way to save his beloved Padmé, he was much farther away.

Anakin let out a growl of frustration, forgetting his lightsaber and slamming a fist into the wall closest to him. The first conclusion he came to was that somehow, the Jedi Council had discovered the truth about himself and Padmé, and had come up with a way to separate them—permanently. The decoration of the room, the furnishings, everything about the room was so strange, and so different from anything he was used to, that he assumed he had been sent to some far corner of the galaxy—if not, a different galaxy entirely. Instead of frightening him, the thought merely aggravated him further—when he returned to Coruscant, the Council would not hear the end of this outrage!

A tumult of emotions raged inside of him—after his initial rage had subsided, worry for Padmé overtook him, and thoughts of what might happen to her flew through his mind. If his dreams were, indeed, premonitions, then she would surely die in childbirth—and judging by her size, that meant that she had a mere month, perhaps, to live. If he was to save her, he _had_ to get back to Coruscant, and then he would surely make whoever had planned this pay—with their life.

Her words rang through his head:

_"I want to have the baby back on Naboo..."_

_"This baby will change our lives—I doubt the Queen will continue to allow me to serve in the Senate, and if the Council discovers that you're the father you'll be expelled—"_

"I will not fail you, Padmé," he promised her quietly, his voice laced with menace.

Rage rippled through him again, making him strong, emboldening him. _It is not the way of a Jedi to be angry_, he reminded himself silently. _But I no longer wish to be part of the Order, if this is how Padmé and I are to be treated! _

He began to pace the length of the room, pondering over where he could be—nothing reminded him of anywhere he had ever visited before. The furnishings were absurd, and oddly archaic; there was none of the class and finesse he was accustomed to. Even on his boyhood home-planet of Tatooine, where his mother—a burst of pain shot through him at the thought of her—and he had been slaves, living in poverty, everything had seemed more... well, modern. The pictures hanging on the walls were odd—paintings, instead of crystal-clear photos, or holograms. The doors were wooden, not glass or metal; the door handles were strangely carved, not smooth.

A noise outside the doors alerted him, and Anakin instantly sought the aid of the Force to determine who—or _what—_could possibly be attempting to enter the room. For the first time in several years, Anakin felt panic and _shock_. The Force would not obey, would not come; it was as if he had been completely robbed of his ability to use it, and of the extra-sharp senses that came with it. _No_, he thought. If the Force eluded him—was he no longer a Jedi? Disgusted with himself, he shook such weak thoughts from his mind.

He attempted to draw his lightsaber, and failed: the weapon lay in his hand, unresponsive. Even when he had broken it whilst he had been Obi-wan's apprentice, it had still sparked when he tried to use it. Now, there was nothing. As the door handle rattled, indicating that someone was on the otherside, attempting to gain entrance, he was left with no other choice but to hide, weak an option as it was. Anakin cursed his luck, and then cursed the Jedi Council for doing this to him.

He crouched in the shadow cast by one of the long, red drapes and awaited the appearance of the intruder, making sure he could still see the doors, though he knew that he could not be seen either in the mirror or from the door. He shrank further backwards, hating himself for having to be weak and hide. The doors opened, and he held his breath.

Anakin kept an eye on the doors as someone entered the room, walking backward. As the soft light fell upon them, Anakin's breath caught. Her hair was a tumbling mass of brown curls, and her figure was slight. Though her attire was strange, he would recognise her anywhere.

_Padmé. _

---------------«¤»---------------

Christine Daae was positively glowing. Her performance that night, she felt, had been her best yet—far better than her performance of the aria _Think of Me_, which had earned her such lavish praise. For once, no thoughts of the Phantom plagued her: she was, for the first time since she had visited his underground lair, free of her constant musings about her Angel and teacher. She had politely refused Raoul's offer of supper, as she wished to simply retire to her rooms for the night—it was quite late, and rehearsals and the subsequent performances had left her tired, and more than happy simply to perhaps curl up with a book and read until she slept.

However, she found herself unable to refuse his polite offer to escort her to her room, as she knew it was perhaps unseemly for a young lady—even the Primma Donna—to wander about the Opera House alone. They had successfully shaken off the public, and, laughing and talking idly, had made their way to Christine's rooms, where Raoul bid her goodnight. As he embraced her, holding her for a moment, she relaxed, allowing herself to believe she was not the Primma Donna of an Opera House, but instead was a young girl again, when her father was still alive, and when she and Raoul had been childhood friends—childhood sweethearts.

He stayed until she had unlocked her rooms, and then, with a warm smile, returned to the public and his duties as patron of the Opera House. Smiling radiantly, Christine entered the room, walking backward, waving to Raoul as he disappeared out of sight. She turned around, and took in the familiar sight of what was now her room: reddish-pink wallpaper, long, red, drapes. Her breath caught.

Of course. How could she have forgotten what awaited her? The mirror at the far end of the room which had revealed to her the pathway down to the lair of the Opera Ghost gleamed in the candelight, as if taunting her. Reality crashed down upon her, and she sighed, her thoughts consumed again by the Phantom. Her eyes strayed to the vanity as she began to unlace her corset—her hair had already been taken care of with the help of Meg and Madame Giry. There, upon the surface, lay a single, blood-red rose, tied around its stem with a silky, shiny black ribbon. Almost sadly, she walked over to the vanity, and picked up the rose, carressing it in her hands.

Its scent reached her nostrils and she sighed.

Feeling small tears gathering in her eyes, she placed the rose back down.

Christine turned, feeling saddened—her good mood vanished like smoke when she thought about the Phantom. With a heavy heart, she sighed. It was only when she surveyed the entirety of the room that blood-chilling fear gripped her heart as she noticed the man crouched in the shadows.

---------------«¤»---------------

**A/N: **Well, that was, er, strange! This shall probably continue regardless of number of hits, reads, or reviews (that being said, I'd like to know what everyone thinks of it, as I know it deviates a lot from everything else I've posted); after all, it was written for my sister, so I'll continue it for her, anyway.

It'd be interesting to see what everyone thinks of a Phantom/Star Wars crossover!

Oh; for clarification purposes, the Phantom of the Opera parts are based off the 2004 movie, and the performance Christine was just thinking about is purely fictional, as it comes from my head, not the movie.

- Naranne.


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